


Will You Return To Me?

by unrestricted_obsessions



Series: When All Else Fades, Will You Return to Me? [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Big Gay Love Story, Bilbo is So Done, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestricted_obsessions/pseuds/unrestricted_obsessions
Summary: When all else fades,I will remember your hands,the arms that held me,your rarest of smiles,the crown of corruptionand the crown of light,never forgetting the eyes that loved me.I will remember.I will heal (or I'll try to).When all else fades,will you return to me?
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: When All Else Fades, Will You Return to Me? [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2054544
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Will You Return To Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715661) by [AngelynMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelynMoon/pseuds/AngelynMoon). 



> Phew, here we go! The tags reveal all, and what a relief it was to write them. I mainly had fun with this part, but I put effort into it too. Hopefully I've managed to somewhat submerge my cringey writing. As always, feedback and constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged. Hope you enjoy!

"Uncle, wake _up_!"  
  
The strength of the fierce shaking Bilbo was submitted to felt as though it could rival an earthquake at that delirious moment following sleep, when in truth Frodo (who was really his cousin, but had taken to calling him Uncle, as you may see) was only using the full force of his own weak fauntling arms. He groaned and lightly pushed in the vague direction of the small figure sat on his legs, a figure which got considerably heavier each year, though only two of those years so far had been spent in Bag End.  
  
"Come on, you said we'd go to the market today!" the young hobbit began to pick up the whiny tone of dragging out certain syllables in warning of impatience (and, arguably, impertinence), so Bilbo sighed and pushed aside his covers.  
  
"Yes, yes, I remember-" he cut himself off with a yawn- "what was that book you wanted again?"  
  
Frodo giggled, speaking in his matter-of-factly tone, "Well, in that case, you clearly don't remember."  
  
There was a thoughtful 'hm' in response, grinning at his cousin as he said, "I suppose not. No matter!" With a small but hardly noticeable struggle, he lifted the boy off the bed, at which a squeal was let out, before _plonk_ ing him down on the ground again.  
"I'm awake now, so soon we shall be off to the market, and you can personally pick out whichever book you like!"  
His toes wiggled in excitement on the soft rug he had landed on before charging away to get ready.  
  
Bilbo remained smiling after he left, thankful that his cousins' son had retained his light-heartedness. They had rather cheered each other on. Bilbo had encouraged the recovery of Frodo's joy, and in turn he had brought light and laughter into the cold, barren halls of his parents' smial, the kind that only a child, with all their jolly resilience, could attain. It was much easier this way to distract himself with the necessities of a daily life, especially that of a respectable hobbit's activities.  
  
Although, there was one certain activity of his (the very one he was trying to slip from his mind) that was most certainly not the expected action of a Baggins, perhaps instead one of a Took's. He was regarded as rather queer since his return, but in the constant ebb and flow of socialization there was soon another scandalous matter to discuss, though he never was quite forgiven for being alive and taking back his furniture (many people attempting to declare him a fraud!).  
  
What a good thing that Bilbo was half Took then, because rightly he found himself no longer caring for the opinions of his neighbours, and he needn't worry over legal matters, as was definitively still Bilbo Baggins, and had the means to prove so.  
  
And so he prepared to go into the market, as he had done many times in his life, though for the last few years it had been admittedly mundane. By the time he was ready, Frodo was already stood in the hall right beside the door, bouncing about and causing many painful-sounding crashes. Once, he had even attempted to dislodge Sting from its place on the wall, almost completely chopping one of his fingers off! It had been a... stressful day.  
  
Even so, away they went together without a second thought. Frodo waved exuberantly to the neighbour's son, Samwise, before trotting along far ahead. Bilbo quite nearly lost him, though it was refreshing to only have to worry over such everyday concerns. It was a heavy contrast to the two years which seemed to have consumed his thoughts and very existence, almost making it feel like a hazy dream. The reality of it was far too real to dismiss, however.  
  
Breaking him from his frankly harmful thoughts, Frodo smiled shyly up at him, before asking to simply be given the money and buy the book for himself. His "Uncle" knew better than to deny him, secretly aware of the avid friendship his cousin had developed with the books' seller, and that he would be a long while talking with them. So instead the eldest remaining Baggins flicked the necessary coins through the air, which Frodo delighted in catching, preoccupying himself with the mental tally of if he would require any additions to his pantry for the day's meals.  
  
There was not much to fuss over, so he soon found himself at the flower stall, gazing over the variety in plants.  
Something struck him.  
"These are awfully cheerful, might the Shire be expecting happy news soon?" he grinned at the stall owner, half teasing.  
  
"Well it's hard to avoid the romantic type of flower, as you know, Mr. Bilbo. You have some lovely ones of your own in that garden, yet remain a bachelor," she shot back cheekily, though her customer didn't miss the way her hand hovered delicately over a white carnation. He failed to declare his noticings, or anything else for that matter, as there was one flower significantly different from the rest. For one, it wasn't even a flower, merely a sprig from a tree. Secondly, it was a cypress; they hardly meant similar cheerfulness to the others.  
  
His gaze was caught, and refused to be removed from that simple little branch, though from the corner of his eye he saw regret flash in its seller's eyes. In return, he only offered the money for it, smiling weakly and tucking it into his curls behind his ear. No one, not even his nephew (once he had returned) dared mention it, or question why (more importantly, who) when he persisted to wear it thus for the rest of the day. There were few vague speculations.  
  
That evening, at dinner, Frodo had invited Sam to Bag End for somewhat of a sleep-over, without of course any objections from Bilbo. They conversed politely together during their meal, but once they retired to the parlour, the two friends spoke in hushed voices while the adult read quietly by the fire. It was horridly confusing for them, and they theorised together for what felt like an age, until Sam spoke up hesitantly with an entirely new perspective.  
  
"What if it was one of his friends, the ones from that story of his? He always seems so sad when he tells it, even though it has a happy ending, and there's no way someone in the Shire could've died without us hearing about it."  
  
Frodo's immediate, instinctual reaction was to say, "Of course not, don't be silly Sam; Uncle Bilbo would never lie to us," but before he could say as much, he began to think it over. Glancing over to his uncle by the fireside, he saw as if for the first time how much he fidgeted in that armchair, how his eyes would grow dazed while reading a book and taking an excessively long time to turn the page. He wondered about the sapling in the garden. Oak...  
  
"What if it was the Dwarf King? The one who went mad?" he blurted out instead, much too loudly, though the shadow at the other end of the room didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Frodo! You shouldn't be so mean! He did apologise, did he not?"  
  
"Hmph, _a_ _lright_ Sam, I'm sorry. He _is_ one of my favourites, it was just a way to distinguish him from the rest! Either way, what do you think? I think I'm right."  
  
"Well, of course you do, you're you. It would be very silly if someone thought they're own idea was wrong."  
  
"Oh come on, you're getting distracted!"  
  
"Fine, I think it could be possible. He _did_ seem quite close to the burglar in the story, so it would make sense for why Mr. Bilbo is so sad, but then who would rule the kingdom if he was dead? That seems too complicated."  
  
"He has his nephews. Oh, or maybe even that cousin, the one who came to help in the big battle!"  
  
Frodo's stomach interrupted with a low grumble, causing Bilbo to leap from his chair, seemingly caught from another one of his trances, and usher them away for supper. With the distraction of food, they nearly forgot the topic at hand, and conversation resumed to its usual variety and inclusion. Sam was just about yawning over his food (hearty meals tended to make him quite sleepy) so that they were moments away from being forced into bed, when a heavy knock rang through the smial. Frodo never failed to notice minute details, at least most of the time, so he saw how his uncle tensed at the sound, not making a move to answer. Sam turned to him in confusion, but there was nothing to discuss in the silent conversation he had prompted, only one question. Who was at the door?  
  
Another few knocks sounded, and this time the story-teller's chair scratched against the floor agonisingly slowly as he stood up.  
"Coming!" he yelled out to the unknown person, quite possibly not as loud or unwavering as he'd hoped, before muttering to himself, much as he always did, "Whoever would be visiting at this hour?" in a manner of trying to convince himself (of what, the two curious little hobbits had no clue).  
  
As the footsteps sounded through the hall, they both rushed to listen without a word. Hobbits have decently keen hearing, perhaps not that of an elf's, but certainly much better than a human's. The front door clicked open...  
  
and immediately slammed shut again.  
  
To explain, we must be within the perspective of Bilbo's mind. He has just spent the last few months trying profoundly to move on and allow his thoughts of a certain dwarf, a certain _dead_ dwarf to pass, despite such efforts going partly in vain. He has adopted his cousin, re-entered society as a mostly respectable gentle-hobbit, and was beginning to get so very close to banishing thoughts of this _certain dwarf_ from his mind (a lie really, though he would never admit it). That was, until he opened the door to find a dead King waiting for him. Except, he clearly wasn't dead, or perhaps the hobbit was going mad faster than he had expected.  
  
So he shut the door.  
  
There was another knock, much gentler than any knock that door had ever received, and a voice. _Oh that voice,_ the voice that had haunted him day and night, the voice that had belittled him, cursed him, cast him aside. The voice that had adored him, respected him, admired him, still smothered in that love and concern as he spoke.  
  
"Bilbo?"  
  
He leaned back against the green door, though the paint was chipping on both sides as he had refused to get it coated over when he returned. Down, down, down he slipped, curled upon the floor, hiding in his own arms and stifling sobs, back down into the depths of misery and doubt and longing. He was so afraid. So afraid that once he opened that door, no-one would be there. Because he knew he would eventually, and he knew that when he did, he would plunge back into those deep, dark waters of pain.  
  
"Bilbo, I'm sorry."  
  
With that he stood, pulling open the door once again, with such a force that Thorin nearly came tumbling right onto the carpet. He seemed quite surprised, but Bilbo refused to meet his gaze, avoided those bright blue eyes, very much full of life. He instead observed the dwarf's clothing; he was certainly adorned richly, though far from a King's robes. The burglar (for once again, he felt surpassingly like a burglar) wondered to himself if this is what he would wear on a quiet evening with his family, after the day's work was finished, and quickly dismissed the rogue thought.  
  
"Whatever are you sorry for? I just slammed a door in your face."  
  
Thorin laughed, and what a laugh it was, low and chuckling, like a mere rumble in the depths of his chest.  
  
"For which I don't blame you." His expression turned quite solemn. "I... did not write you a letter for all the years you were gone, and in my quest to remain secret, kept the others from doing so as well."  
  
Bilbo took in a deep, trembling breath, trying to steady himself, when instead the tears only felt closer.  
"Why?"  
  
"I-" Thorin looked quite struck, and he reached for his hobbit's hand as though ut was the dearest comfort he could be granted- "I did not know what to do. You were gone, and I had a kingdom to restore. It would have felt... wrong, to declare my survival through a silly piece of parchment. I wanted to make the time for you, and I came as soon as I could be spared."  
  
"It would have sufficed. _Anything_ would have sufficed Thorin, I _mourned_ you!"  
There was a dreadful silence for many moments, through which Bilbo could not help but be frustrated once again with the ridiculous King, but faced with such a remorseful expression, he smiled eventually, removing the cypress sprig from behind his ear.  
  
"Never mind, I suppose you have always been an oaf."  
  
And so they embraced. Bilbo clutched to him as though afraid he would leave again, tears finally threatening to fall, and Thorin seemed to relish in the forgiveness and contact with his burglar. As they broke apart, he saw two pairs of eyes glistening in the hallway, peeking out from behind another door.  
  
"Is that..?"  
  
Bilbo interrupted before he could finish with a sigh.  
"Frodo, my nephew. I adopted him. I imagine Samwise is with him, they'll be eavesdropping. You best come in."  
  
"Is there anyone else?" Thorin asked hesitantly, attempting a discretion which he had always failed at. Bilbo's lips quirked slightly, whether in a faint smile or amusement, no-one knew.  
  
"No. Just us."  
  
When they stepped into the dining room, two suspicious hobbits only just scrambled back into their chairs, casting urgent, expressive glances to each other like they were speaking a whole other language. Bilbo, ever the perfect host, quickly left again, yelling about how Thorin will be wanting some food, despite the protests in return.  
  
He sat down awkwardly in one of the seats that was clearly unoccupied, fidgeting under the awed gazes of the young lads, Frodo and Sam. He could make out which was which from the resemblance to Bilbo.  
  
"Are you _really_ a dwarf?" the taller one asked.  
  
"Shush Sam, of course he's a dwarf."  
  
"But we _never_ get dwarves in the Shire."  
  
"Yes, but this is one of Bilbo's dwarves, so he's clearly come to visit."  
  
Thorin almost felt pride, or embarrassment, at being so confidently labled in such a way, before fiercely reminding himself that to these hobbits, the whole Company were their uncle's dwarves. He wondered if they had been spun tales in a glamorous, fantastical way of the all-too-real events of their Quest.  
  
"It must be fun, being one of Bilbo's dwarves," Sam spoke in his childish thoughtfulness.  
  
"Are you the one who died?" Frodo turned to him, quite unfazed by the weight of his question. Thorin fumbled for a response, but he soon continued without needing further prompting.  
  
"Well, it was only a guess of ours. Bilbo always told us the story, you know, but he said that the Mountain King defeated the orc armies and rebuilt his kingdom. Then we realised that he was so sad when he told that part, and today he was wearing a _cypress_ branch of all things, and we realised no-one in the Shire could've died (without us knowing at least) and that it might've been you, since Uncle has his _Oak_ tree, like your name and you were so-"  
  
Sam nudged him, and he fell quiet. In the dark and his anxious approach, Thorin hadn't noticed that Bilbo had an oak tree, but the assurance that it was there gladdened him, easing his worries, if only a little.  
  
"Oh. Sorry," Frodo mumbled sheepishly, "but you _are_ Thorin Oakenshield, aren't you?"  
  
The dwarf laughed, half surprised and half impressed. No matter how distantly related, the boy had clearly inherited Bilbo's intelligence and inquisitiveness.  
  
"Yes, I am, and I suppose from your uncle's perspective I am the one who died, but really it was only an injury."  
  
"Can you tell us?" He perked up, practically glowing with the excitement, but at that moment Bilbo returned, and they were pushed into silence. Thorin winked at him as a promise for the story at a more suitable time, and he grinned.  
  
"Frodo, Sam, you best go to bed. It's getting late."  
  
They clearly knew better than to protest, or, at least, Sam did, dragging his friend along with a nod. Once he was certain the two had gone to their room as told, Bilbo sat down, handing one of the cups in his hand to Thorin. Unsurprisingly, it was tea.  
  
"Turns out I don't actually have any decent food in for the time," he explained apologetically. The dwarf waved his hand dismissively and sipped at his drink.  
  
"It's fine."  
  
They both seemed hesitant to speak. What could one say in such a bizarre situation? "Glad you're not dead"? "Sorry for supposedly being dead"? Since there was no need for the table, they went back into the parlour. Neither of them sat down, simply standing by the fire.  
  
"So... how long can you stay in the Shire?"  
  
"It's unclear, Dís assured me Fili would be fine under her and Balin's guidance, but my own mind can't help but worry," he laughed weakly. The hobbit's expression, however, remained tense, and the small smile soon faded.  
  
"I see. It must be different," he attempted a smile now, regret slicing through his chest at the far too noticeable distance growing between them, "ruling Erebor. I'm pleased to hear Fili's taking up his responsibilities, but surely Kili is as mischievous as ever."  
His cheeky grin faded into a sort of melancholic smile.  
"Don't let them lose their spirits though, won't you? Being princes must be difficult on them now. I do miss them so. I miss everyone."  
  
For the first time all evening, he glanced up to meet those blue eyes (whether they were sapphires, skies, flowers or the deepest of water), and the sincerity, the abject _sorrow_ felt as though it would rip Thorin's heart into pieces.  
  
"I've missed _you_ " he finished.

In the next moment, Bilbo seemed like he was soaring through the air, his cup shattering on the ground, forgotten. It was an uproar of emotions, waiting on baited breath as the dwarf before him was suddenly so much _closer_ , looking like he had completely revealed all his weakness, his insecurity, his doubt to this mere little hobbit. So very in love.  
  
As Thorin spoke, his burglar (of more than gold and heirlooms) could hear the anguished restraint rippling through him, like a bird showing its head through the bars of a cage and singing, shyly, faintly, but beautifully.  
  
"Stay me if I am mistaken. Speak one word of rejection and I shall leave. _Please."_  
  
Silence hung in the air.  
  
"You _are_ a fool, Thorin Oakenshield."  
  
Even if said fool was immediately greeted with a tentative kiss, which soon grew into something desperate, something passionate, a reunion of two lovers who had waited far too long through many absurd circumstances. When they finally parted, releasing themselves from one blissful eternity only to face another, they remained in a tight embrace, foreheads lingering together. A sigh escaped Bilbo's lips.  
  
"An absolute dunce."  
  
So very in love.

So very happy.

_~end_

**Author's Note:**

> White Carnations: Innocence, Pure Love, Sweet Love  
> Cypress sprig: Death, Despair, Mourning, Sorrow (wearing a Cypress sprig is believed to comfort/ease the mind of grief upon the death of someone close to you)


End file.
